Seventh Christmas
by Victoria Hughes
Summary: He was an abandoned child with no direction in his life, until he met the clown. Before Allen was a gentleman, he was a street rat.
1. The Third Job

_**Author's Notes:** This is a series of connected vingettes about Mana and Allen. This first story is how Mana and Allen met. At least, the person we think is Mana._

_Spoilers for chapter 166 of the manga._

&

Very little in the world could impress Allen. Jewelry and fine clothes made him scoff, bravado made him roll his eyes, and talent made him shrug. A heaping plate of food could get his attention, but in that he was not unique. Born in the early 1880's to a family he never knew, he was one of hundreds of children orphaned, turned out on their ear, and abandoned to the streets of industrial London.

He lived in an orphanage for a long time; no one really liked him. Allen's deformed hand was big and red and ugly and didn't work as well as the other one, an easy target to point and make fun at. Allen glared and hunched his shoulders and ignored it. He didn't like his hand any better than anyone else. He promised himself he'd get bigger and tougher, and then he'd leave the orphanage.

Naturally he did get bigger as he aged, and when he was about six he was old enough to earn his keep at the orphanage. He recieved his first job at a texile mill that made sheets of linen for beds. All day long he hauled water to the steamers, where the soot from the mill was washed out of the linen until it was pristine white and ready to be shipped. He hated the job, but it was better than the assembly lines, reserved for older kids who didn't have shaking deformed limbs, where people were maimed or killed by the exposed whirring gears. He was paid with two full meals, one at the beginning and one at the end of the day, and his wages were given to the orphanage for his keep. The steam choked him and the workers were afraid of him, as if his left hand were somehow contagious.

He collapsed into bed exhausted each day, and the dream of running away faded. There was only work.

After six months of daily work, except Sundays, Allen came up ill. He collapsed in a puddle of water from his bucket. For two weeks he could barely raise his head from his pallet. The textile mill replaced him, so when Allen recovered he was told he had a new job, at a coal refinery. Instead of hauling water, Allen now hauled wood. Since he was so small he wasn't worth as much, and he only would get one full meal a day from his work. The coal dust made him cough and his eyes watered all day until they were so dry he could barely close them at night, and he was always filthy. His forearms were burned from being so close to the fire.

One fall morning Allen rode the wagon to his job. When the wagon came back that evening the manager was there instead of Allen, demanding to know where he'd gone. He had worked at the coal refinery for barely a month.

Allen was twenty miles south, just out of London, looking up at the tentpoles of the _Cirque de Solace_.

&

By circumstance, Allen was a realist. He knew he'd have to work to eat, perhaps even harder than he had at the mills, but it was hard to imagine a job harder or more tedious than the industrial ones. Once he had snuck off to see the circus when he heard the older boys talking about it, but he'd only gotten as far as the sideshows - the Bearded Lady and the Tattooed Man and one guy swallowing fire (which Allen thought was pretty neat) before he was caught without a ticket and thrown out. Now he stood on the outskirts of the circus grounds, hands in his pockets, and watched as men pounded huge nails into the ground and erected wooden platforms and built rickety bleachers.

He looked up at the sign he was standing next to. There were elegantly painted pictures of lions and elephants and trapeze artists flipping through the air, and a big clown face. Writing covered the clown face, which Allen couldn't read.

Allen took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh, and his stomach grumbled. Surely a place with this much going on could use an extra hand - maybe he could feed the lions or something. No use standing around, though. He drew another deep breath, held it for a moment, and strode across the grounds, dodging wooden planks and men rolling oil drums.

With this much activity there would be no way Allen could find the manager or the ringmaster or whomever and ask for a job. He knew what he looked like - short, thin, and unkempt, sweaty and sunburnt from walking all day in the early fall sun, and with a messed-up hand. He'd look useless. So Allen found a bucket with a ladle that no one was using, and the field well, and he hauled water.

For the rest of the evening Allen went back and forth from the well, offering drinks of water from the ladle to every sweating worker. It was just as much work as the textile mill, but it was far more rewarding. If anyone noticed his hand, they made no mention of it, wiping their sweaty brows with handkerchiefs and thanking him for the water.

When night began to fall a bell clanged, and with exclamations of interest the workers got up and came towards the sound. Allen followed, still dragging a half-bucket of water behind him, and his mouth began to water when he caught a whiff of stew on the breeze. When the workers all lined up for what was apparently the evening meal, Allen lined up with them. His stomach felt as though it were scraping his backbone.

When he got to the front of the line a cracked bowl and a bent spoon was shoved into his waiting hand, and a ladel-full of beef stew was poured into it. Allen took a long, deep sniff before he went to dig in, when the bowl was snatched away.

Allen squawked with dismay and looked up. The man holding his meal away from him was tall, round, and pale, but his hair was dark. it bushed out from under the kerchief wrapped around his head and in a thick, shaped beard, but it was obvious he needed a shave because the stubble was long. He glared down at Allen. "Looking for a free meal, kid? We don't feed strays."

Allen balled up his fists and scowled. This might have been the manager that he didn't want to interrupt in the middle of work, but he was so hungry he could faint. He opened his mouth to protest when someone else - one of the tent nailers - spoke up, his mouth half-full of stew. "I thou' you 'ired 'im, Alfred." The man swallowed. "He's been haulin' water long since midday at least. I'm damn glad, too, saved us alla trip and the water is welcome."

Alfred frowned at this, then looked back down at Allen. "Where you from?" he demanded.

Allen looked longingly through his bangs at the bowl of stew still out of his reach. "London."

"You got parents that'll be wantin' ya?"

Allen shook his head. "No," he emphasized, jutting out his jaw. "Jus' don't wanna work in the mills. If you got any jobs here, I'll take it. I don't care what it is."

Alfred didn't look impressed; he eyed Allen up and down, and Allen clasped his hands behind his back quickly, hiding them in folds of baggy clothes. "Hmph. You can probably barely lift that bucket," he grumbled, but he lowered his hand to return the stew. "You earn your keep, then you can stay. You gotta make yourself useful, you hear me, boy!? We're not in the business of charity! I catch you lazin' about and you're out on your ear!"

Allen snatched the bowl of stew away the moment it was within reach. "I got it, I got it," he said, shoveling corned beef and stewed lettuce into his mouth. "I c'n work hard--!"

"You'd damn well better," Alfred grumbled, and that was how Allen got his third job.


	2. The New Clown

Allen wasn't seen as reliable help at the _Cirque de Solace_, as he was expected to run away again at any time. Children apparently came and went. Allen was true to his word, however, and earned his keep with whatever he was asked to do. The air smelled of sweat and gunpowder, animals and oil, but at least it was clean air, and Allen's deformed hand was not the strangest thing around for miles.

The work was hard but there was a lot to see. While the circus prepared for a month of performances, Allen hauled water to the workers as he had when he first arrived until the tents were raised. Then he hauled water to the animals. There were white ponies with elegant heads, their tails broken so they stood upright in a shower of white horsehair, and trained dogs who submitted to being petted while Allen filled their water bowls. The lions were asleep when Allen first saw them, great yellow cats with dramatic manes. He stared at their teeth when one of them yawned, transfixed by potential violence, before their trainer chased him off. When Allen first saw the two elephants he dropped his bucket and had to go get another. They were huge and gray, and when Allen filled their huge water buckets he jumped and laughed because their trunks curled around his middle, sniffing his pockets as if for food. Despite their long, curled tusks, Allen quickly liked them. He didn't even mind having to take eight trips to fill their water bins to the brim. (Three days later when he had to muck their stall, Allen liked them a little less.)

Just before the show started Allen was sent back into London to advertise for the circus. "You know the city, boy," Alfred said. "Go bring in the paying customers!" Allen couldn't read the flyers he was waving around, but it didn't matter because all he had to do was hand them to people and say, "Come to the Solace Circus, the greatest show in all of Europe! Wonders from all over the world for only a bender!" He would be in London from sunup to whenever he ran out of flyers, which was usually a little after noontime, before he walked back.

Allen took his food with the setup crew, and when he was done he was sent to bring food to the performers, who had their own rooms in the carriages that made up the circus caravan. The Tattooed Man, Tulsa, was covered in ink from head to toe - all Allen saw was a snake up his arm and a naked man and woman on his back before the man took the tray from Allen's hands and dismissed him. The Bearded Lady was actually a thin man named Daniel who wore a corset and fake breasts to look like a woman. His other job was as an acrobat who rode the horses. The trapeze artists were from India and had a son who was a little younger than Allen. He didn't speak English, but Allen understood when he pointed at Allen's hand and babbled at his parents. He left before they could say anything about it. There were four contortionists from China, and even though they were teenagers they were barely bigger than Allen. The Strongman was Petrov from Russia, who didn't even notice when Allen left his food by where he lifted weights. They even had a magician. She kept rabbits and canaries in her carriage that Allen saw when he craned his neck to look before the door was shut in his face.

Allen didn't know it but most of the setup crewmembers were also acrobats and clowns. The auguste clown was Cosimo from Italy, and unlike the other acrobats he had his own carriage. Until Allen met Cosimo he had been mostly ignored or dismissed unless he was doing his job, but Cosimo was mean-spirited and hated to think anyone was more important to the circus than him. No one was his friend except Alfred and a few other crew members, but he was the best clown so no one had anything to say to Cosimo either. Cosimo didn't take kindly to criticism or anyone who talked back to him.

Allen quickly discovered that Cosimo never liked his food the first time; no matter how fast Allen came it was always too cold or too spicy or too anything. "This is inedible," Cosimo would grumble, throwing the spoon down on his tray. "Can't the cook do anything right?"

Allen liked Gregory, the cook, but that was because Greg was the source of his meals. (Allen did not know what it was like to feel full, but at the _Cirque de Solace_ Allen had come closer to knowing than ever before.) "Is that a joke?" Allen asked the third day he brought Cosimo his food and Cosimo didn't like it. "Because it's not very funny."

Cosimo glared at him. "Keep your tongue in your head, boy," he snapped.

Allen glared back. "The food's good. You're jus' a whiner." Allen despised whiners, especially people that whined about food that was perfectly edible.

Cosimo made a sound like a growl, picked up his tray, and shoved it so hard into Allen's chest that Allen fell down, spilling the cooked beans and mutton. "Just bring me another one, you little freak!" he snapped.

Allen grumbled and swore under his breath, but he always brought a second meal. Sometimes Gregory would let Allen eat the food that Cosimo rejected, though.

Allen slept on a bed of straw at first, but soon he had a hammock with the setup crew-cum-acrobats. He found it strangely comfortable. Allen could only find great fault with the fleas, which were everywhere thanks to the animals, and could only be gotten rid of by a soapy bath or a dip in the lake, and they were always back by the next day, hiding in their clothes.

During the first performance under the bigtop Allen was nearly forgotten, and so he got to see his first circus performance. He was transfixed, eyes wide as the men who had nailed tentpoles and built the bleachers the audience now filled flipped and danced and did handstands on the backs of cantering horses and lumbering elephants. The magician made canaries disappear and turned her cape into doves. The trapeze artists rode unicycles on the tightrope. The animal trainer put his head into the lions' open mouths and made them jump through hoops. The strongman lifted weights that claimed to be one thousand pounds, which Allen knew were fake, and the contortionists bent themselves into impossible shapes and let him lift them. And Cosimo and the other clowns made the audience laugh, but Allen couldn't even smile. He had seen some of the performers practice, but everything seemed much more dazzling under the big top, with Ringmaster Alfred guiding the audience's attention this way and that and everyone's faces painted dramatically.

He wasn't forgotten afterwards though, and though it seemed impossible there was even more work to do during the performance weeks. Bedding had to be aired and replaced, clothes washed, cages mucked and the mulching replaced, litter cleaned up - there was never a shortage of jobs.

When the novelty of the strangeness of the circus folk wore off, Allen grew bored, but he didn't leave. No one particularly liked him, but no one particularly hated him either, except maybe Cosimo, but Allen hated him too. Only once did anyone ask about his hand, and it was one of the Zulu Men, who were really three black men from Wales who dressed up as African Zulu for the sideshow. "Boy," he called while Allen was walking by with laundry.

"It's Allen," Allen corrected him, tired of being called 'boy' all the time.

The man shrugged. "Allen, then - what's that with your hand there? Doesn't hurt, does it?"

Allen scowled. "Who's askin'?"

"I was just wondering, is all. Don't take it wrong, boy - Allen - but we wondered if Alfred hired y' for the freakshow on account of it and all."

Allen kicked at the dust in the Zulu Man's direction, sending it up in a cloud. "Hell no! My hand's nonna your business!"

The Zulu Man raised his arms placatingly. "Meant no offense ..." But Allen was already stalking off.

The last performance was on All Hallow's Eve, and then the circus packed up to move onwards, to the southern tip of England, for the somewhat milder weather. There the circus crew would weather the winter, which was hardest on the animals from Africa, and put on performances every three days for two months, weather permitting. Allen came with them, but the fire-eater, David, didn't, having just recieved word that his mother was ill. Allen was told by Alfred he was the longest-lasting odd jobs boy he'd ever had.

A week after the _Cirque de Solace_ pitched their tents, a man in a long top hat came to the grounds, trailed by a hound who kept his nose low and his shoulder to the man's knee. He went to Alfred's carriage and was invited in, and neither man left the carriage for over an hour. When they emerged, Alfred announced they had a new clown - Mana - who they would give a test performance the following night. The man removed his top hat and bowed politely: "Please take care of me."

"What are you waiting for!?" Alfred barked at Allen, who was curious about the newcomer as everyone else was. "Get a pallet stuffed for him and clean out David's carriage!"

Allen didn't find clowns very funny, and not just because Cosimo was mean. The things they did were stupid and random and Allen couldn't figure out why wasting cream pies by splashing them into people's faces was amusing.

But when Mana performed, he made the crowds laugh even harder than Cosimo did. He was better at tumbling, and his dog - the Great Asimov, as Mana called him - could balance and toss balls with his mouth and nose so well that he could act as Mana's juggling assistant all by himself. Even Allen thought the dog was pretty neat. Alfred was thrilled when people asked after 'the clown with the dog'. Mana was greatly liked by the audiences, and soon it looked as though he might replace Cosimo as the auguste clown.

Mana's dog didn't stay with the others in the kennel, so Allen had to bring the dog his own separate bowl of water in the morning and food scraps in the evening. "You don't have to. I'll feed him," Mana said once while he put on his makeup, but Allen ignored him. Asimov the Great was quiet and when Allen put out his deformed hand, Asimov would lick it as though it were perfectly normal. On the rare occasions Allen had some time to himself, he would go sit with the dog.

But Cosimo was furious, his position threatened by this newcomer. He was no friend of Allen either. One night after a performance he got very drunk, and when Allen brought him his meal Cosimo grabbed the tray and threw it against the wall, shattering the cup and bowl and sending the spoon flying. "You're trying to poison me, aren't you!?" he demanded, his Italian accent thickened from slurring. He grabbed Allen by the collar before Allen could react. "I see you getting cozy with that lick-spittle Mana!" He shoved Allen back into the wall and kicked him in the chest. The breath whooshed from Allen and he choked on air, sliding to the ground, and Cosimo stomped on his deformed hand. "You're in league with him!"

Allen couldn't get enough breath to shout, and Cosimo kicked him in the shoulder and face. Allen put up his arms in defense; his deformed arm lacked feeling, and when Cosimo kicked him there it only throbbed dully. "Drunk bastard," he finally managed to snarl, curled on the ground with his arms over his face.

Cosimo sneered and finally relented, dragging Allen up by the back of his shirt and throwing him out the door. "Freak! Devil-child! I don't want to see hide nor hair of you again!"

Allen wiped his bleeding lip on his wrist and made a rude gesture as he got to his feet; Cosimo swore at him and made to come after Allen, and Allen turned tail and ran.

The next day, Asimov was found dead, beaten with a stick until his bones broke. It was the first time Allen cried that he could remember.


	3. Christmas

Of course Allen knew what Christmas was. At Christmastime toys of all sorts appeared in the windows of shops in London, wreaths graced the doors of wealthier homes, and carolers would go from door to door to wish a Merry Christmas and demand pudding. The orphanage always got three huge turkeys, let everyone have seconds, and gave out hard candies, two for each child.

Now far away from the orphanage and London, Allen had not realized it was Christmas Eve until Mana told him, while he was burying Asimov the Great. He was sore from being beaten the night before, but mentioning it to Alfred wouldn't get him much sympathy. Alfred would trust Cosimo over Allen. There likely wouldn't be any candy this year, and Asimov was dead. It was a pretty terrible Christmas.

Allen scrubbed his cheek with his sleeve and wrapped his arms around his knees. It was cold and the sweat he had worked up from hauling water was cooling and making him shiver. He looked up at Mana, who was in his full clown makeup, ready to do a minature performance to advertise for the circus, only his assistant was dead. How could Mana do nothing about it? Mana could probably beat Cosimo within an inch of his life.

Thinking about it made Allen want to cry again, so he sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "So where're you goin'?" he asked. "After tommorrow, I mean."

Mana shrugged. "I don't know," he said. Even this close, his makeup made him look as though he was continuously smiling. "Where I always go, I guess."

Allen raised an eyebrow curiously.

Mana's lips curled upwards a little under his makeup. "Nowhere at all."

Allen rolled his eyes.

Mana got to his feet with the groan of an old, old man, and looked out towards the bare horizon. The grass was brown under their feet, and their breath came out in puffs of mist. "I guess I'd better give my last performance. Will you come toss balls for me? Without Asimov ..."

"I dunno," Allen answered after a moment, resting his chin on his knees and blinking hard. "Alfred--"

"I'll talk to him," Mana interrupted. "Come on." He offered his hand to help Allen up.

Allen ignored it, getting to his feet on his own. "Okay." He didn't really want to pick up litter anyway.

&

The job ascribed to Allen was very easy; he had a bin of balls and pins by his knee, and he only had to toss them to Mana when Mana gave a little nod. He was a very smooth juggler and he made horrendous faces as he went, all the while balancing on a bigger ball. Little children laughed at him, and when Mana finished tossing the balls back to Allen to put away, Mana continued to do silly things while Allen handed out flyers to the passerby.

"You did well, Allen," Mana said as they walked back to the grounds, but Allen scoffed.

"Anyone could do that," he grumbled.

Mana laughed. "I never had to reach for a ball you tossed, and that's good. I thought for sure you would at least smile for a compliment."

Allen rolled his eyes again, kicking the dirt as he walked.

He and Mana parted ways when Allen was yelled at for running off, cuffed at the ear, and sent off to do the job he'd abandoned, despite Mana's protests. When Allen saw Cosimo passing by he kept his head down. Despite fantasies of revenge, he knew there was nothing he could do on his own.

That night when Gregory tried to send Allen with Cosimo's meal, Allen refused. "I'm not goin' back to that bastard," Allen informed him bluntly.

Gregory raised an eyebrow. "You'll go if I say it and that's all," he snapped, but Allen folded his arms and wouldn't take the tray. It was the first time he had refused any job. Gregory was nonplussed.

"See here, boy," he said. "This is your job. You do it, however you like, but it gets done-!"

"I'd soon kick him as look at him," Allen shot back, and then Gregory got angry, his brows drawing down.

"I've a mind to slap you silly! Cosimo earns your bread and butter! Do you want to argue over something so simple as that? Then get out, whelp, and come back when you've a mind to do your work!"

Allen got out. Supper was a loaf of bread he filched on the way. Somehow in wandering he found himself at Mana's carriage before he remembered that Asimov was dead. He glared at his bread until it was clear in his vision again.

Mana opened his door, his face now washed and wearing street clothes. "Ah, Allen. Did you bring supper?"

Allen sniffled and glared. "No."

Mana sighed and shrugged. "Ah well. Still crying about Asimov?"

"No!" Allen barked, infuriated by Mana's blase attitude.

Mana didn't bat an eyelash. "Out of jobs for the night, then? Come on in. I can tell you about Asimov."

"I don't care about him," Allen said unconvincingly.

"Then we'll play cards." Mana would not be dissuaded.

Allen looked at his half-eaten loaf of bread and the empty dirt where Asimov slept, and trudged up into Mana's carriage. "I don't need you to look out for me," he said, just to make sure Mana knew exactly what was going on.

"Don't worry." Mana closed the door behind Allen. "I can see you look out for yourself just fine."

Allen realized he was being mocked. "And I still don't think you're funny."

Mana laughed while Allen shifted from foot to foot. Mana's carriage was lit by two gas lamps, and other than the pallet most of the space was taken up by two stools and a table to match. His clown costume was hung by the door and some of his juggling tools were in the corner, but what Allen found curious, and had the few times he brought Mana his meal, were the six knives hung by the door. He had never seen Mana juggle them. It was a little warmer in here but not much; if Allen hadn't been rebellious he would have been warming his hands at one of the bonfires Daniel had set up.

Mana sat down on one of the stools. "Sit," he said, drawing a pack of cards out of his pocket. "We can play Gin Rummy."

"You weren't joking about cards," Allen said after a moment, and took his seat. He didn't remember finishing his loaf of bread, but it was gone.

Allen didn't actually know how to play Gin, so Mana taught him while Allen rubbed his hands together to get warm. He saw Mana glancing at his deformed arm, but Mana didn't say anything.

When Mana wasn't trying to be funny, he was patient. In the cold even Allen's left hand was affected and it was hard for him to handle the cards without dropping them. He could see Mana was humoring him by letting him win some rounds. "Just because I'm a kid doesn't mean you have to go easy on me," Allen protested in a fit of irritation.

"It's not because you're a kid. I don't even like kids like you," Mana answered. "It's because of your hands. They're thick-skinned and slow from the cold. Have you ever owned a pair of gloves? Well, never mind, I imagine not."

Allen glared at Mana, then glared at his cards instead.

"Anyway, you'll get faster as you get older, too." Mana put down a card and slapped them. "Gin!"

Allen threw the cards at the table, tired of the game, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Why're you being nice." His voice was flat.

Mana raised his eyebrows as if he was surprised, and put down his cards on the table too. "Because you were friends with Asimov." Mana smiled. "Asimov didn't make friends with just anyone."

Allen didn't know how to react, so he said nothing. Mana started gathering up the cards and opened his mouth to say something else when a knock came at the door. "Ah, that will be supper," he said with a wink, and got to his feet.

It was Gregory. "Supper," he said, sounding disgruntled.

"Thank you," Mana replied, taking the tray. The smell of Greg's best stew wafted in and Allen's stomach growled.

"If you see that urchin Allen, give him a cuff and send him my way, will you?" Gregory added. "He ran off all in a flurry and no one's seen him since. I've got pots for him to clean."

"I will," Mana promised. "And Merry Christmas." Allen blinked at the lie.

"Same to you," Gregory said before Mana closed the door behind him.

He set the tray down on the table atop the cards without care. Allen's mouth watered and he regretted refusing to serve Cosimo, even if it had meant getting struck again. It would have been worth the meal.

Mana saw him looking on and handed Allen the cut of bread that came with the stew. "Have some," he said, smiling, and took his spoon to the food. Allen didn't need a second invitation, and in short order half the stew had disappeared into Allen's mouth, along with the bread. Mana grasped the bowl out of Allen's reach then. "Not all of it! I want supper too," he protested, but he was still smiling.

Allen's stomach still felt empty but it was a little better. He licked his fingers and watched Mana eat. "... Thanks," he said eventually, begrudging.

"Ah, you know a little bit of manners after all." Mana scooped the last of the stew into his mouth. "Mm, delicious. And I'd better send you back to Greg or he'll be really upset in the morning. What did you run off for?"

"Nonna your business," Allen grumbled, unhappy about having to face Gregory.

"Hm." Mana said nothing more about the subject, turning to his pallet and pulling out a small bag that he hid underneath it. "Well, it may not be a very merry Christmas, but every child deserves a treat, even ungrateful brats who don't laugh. Here." He took Allen's hand - his left one, as if he didn't care - and placed a single piece of hard candy in it. "Suck on it while you're scrubbing pots."

Allen stared at the candy, and the hand holding it, for a long while, before he curled his fist around it. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything.

"Psst," Mana whispered in exaggeration, bending down towards Allen and curling his hand around his mouth as if telling a secret. "The word you're looking for is 'thanks'."

"That's not funny," Allen said, but a terrible, unused giggle burst from him anyway.

&

On December 26th Mana put on his tall top hat and his coat and picked up his suitcase, and he said goodbye to the _Cirque de Solace_ as abruptly as he'd joined it. The snow had missed Christmas by a day, coming down in slow, occasional flakes. When he walked by the weathered sign declaring the circus grounds, a small, pale boy with brown hair and slightly oversized clothes appeared as if he'd been waiting for Mana to come.

"I want to come with you," Allen said, his mouth set in a hard line as if he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.

"It won't be easy. I'm not rich and I move a lot," Mana warned him, although he knew it would not deter Allen.

"When's anything easy?" Allen demanded, crossing his arms and shivering a little in the cold.

Mana chuckled. "You're right," he said, and beckoned to Allen, and together they walked off to nowhere.

_ende_


End file.
